I Became the Assassin Family's Foster Daughter (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 14

Not long ago, didn’t Jed say exactly that?

“The young master dislikes people partly because of the smell we emit when we breathe, doesn’t he? It’s something only he can detect, and apparently, it’s quite foul. Of course, from you, miss, nothing but the scent of flowers would ever come.”

Hearing that story made Riche feel as if the world had split in two.

Whether it was their first meeting, in the monster forest, or during those various times with Deon at the ducal estate—

It meant Deon had been smelling the odor from her breath all along. And apparently, it was unbearably strong.

‘He must have thought I was filthy.’

It was a phrase she’d heard countless times in her past life. Because of that, Riche had grown accustomed to being called “filthy,” and she’d never particularly denied it.

But she didn’t want the Rodwicks to see her that way.

“Oh dear, the smell. To actually bring someone like this here.”

“Since it’s Duke Gerwer’s order, I’ll address you as ‘miss,’ but don’t forget your place. You’re merely a commoner of slave origin.”

More precisely, she never wanted to hear those exact words from their mouths again.

It was the first wish she’d ever truly held.

‘I never intended to become attached…’

Three weeks had already passed since she’d entered the Rodwick household.

At first, she’d thought of it merely as a temporary fence—somewhere to stay until she was old enough to live on her own.

Even after receiving her name, that thought lingered in the back of her mind. She’d always believed it wouldn’t be surprising if they abandoned her at any moment.

So don’t give your heart away too much. Riche would occasionally wake in the dead of night, gaze out the dark window, and warn herself.

But.

For the first time, she was receiving affection without reason, kindness from people.

It was warmth too gentle to ignore. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like once that warmth disappeared.

She didn’t want to let go. By the time she realized this feeling, her heart had already opened to the House of Rodwick.

‘So I really wanted to get along well with Deon too…’

The smell? She’d ruined it.

As Riche sank into despair, Deon looked at her with an utterly baffled expression.

“You don’t smell.”

“…?”

“When did I ever say you smelled? Besides, breath odor isn’t even that strong to begin with.”

It was true that Deon, unlike Blake, could detect the scent emanating from living beings’ breath due to his immense latent power. However, the breath odor he perceived wasn’t nearly as foul as the rumors circulating in the Rodwick household suggested.

In truth, he’d simply made up an excuse—“You stink terribly every time you breathe, so don’t come near me”—to deter knights who kept fawning over him, and that excuse had spread as if it were fact.

“Now that I think about it, it is kind of strange.”

“What is?”

Riche cautiously lowered the hand she’d been covering her nose and mouth with and asked.

Deon stared at her, lost in thought.

‘Why doesn’t she give off any smell?’

It wasn’t just humans. Every living being whose breath Deon could regulate emitted a scent—even Blake, who possessed the same ability.

So why didn’t Riche emit any?

Just like his own scent had vanished in the monster forest. Something always felt off whenever he got involved with this kid.

‘…Should I test it?’

Deon raised his hand.

Their eyes met—Riche’s innocent silver gaze against Deon’s emotionless red one.

“What?”

That foolish face, clueless about what he might do next.

Deon flicked Riche’s forehead as she looked up at him and grumbled irritably,

“You’re weird.”

“Ow!”

“Don’t dodge me from now on.”

Then he left, leaving Riche behind.

[This is the timeline separator]

“Young master. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Blake’s personal physician asked Deon, who had appeared at his clinic.

The door stood wide open, the clinic empty, yet Deon showed no intention of stepping inside.

Leaning crookedly against the doorframe, he spoke toward the physician.

“Father?”

It was an ambiguous question, yet always the same one.

Since he’d repeatedly asked, “How is Father’s condition?” it had reached the point where just the subject alone was enough to be understood.

The physician smiled kindly at Deon and replied,

“He’s fighting hard. His condition hasn’t worsened either.”

“That’s good enough.”

Without hesitation, Deon pushed off from the doorframe and turned away.

Though he acted aloof, the physician knew full well that Deon visited every time out of worry for Blake.

“Tsk tsk… Our young master is truly pitiful.”

Though never intentional by past heads of the family, the House of Duke Rodwick had mostly continued through only children.

Moreover, the late Duchess Rodwick herself had been the cherished daughter of a noble family with few heirs.

Currently, Blake was the only close blood relative Deon had left.

“How fortunate it is that Miss Riche has become a member of the Rodwick family.”

Outside, some nobles apparently opposed the ducal family’s adoption of a commoner.

Yet most within Rodwick Mansion welcomed Riche’s adoption.

Not only was the child incredibly endearing, but everyone had worried about Deon being left utterly alone after Blake’s death.

“Even if he seems to dislike people, he’s deeply wounded…”

The physician recalled the incident from six years ago.

A mere three-year-old child, driven solely by the desperate wish to revive his lifeless mother, had used his power.

It wasn’t a calculated decision but an instinctive act. The boy had spent the entire night before his mother’s coffin, trying desperately to restore her breath that would never return.

Until Blake found him collapsed there the next morning.

Though he’d been far too young for his memories to be complete, Deon had always blamed himself for that day. That was how he’d grown up.

“If I hadn’t been born, would Mother still be alive?”

Those were the words Deon had spoken to him, the physician, when he was six years old.

The physician had replied, “If the Duchess heard those words, she’d be heartbroken. She was incredibly happy after giving birth to you, young master.”

From that day onward, Deon never again asked him about the Duchess’s life or death. That was also when he began distancing himself from people.

The physician suspected that before asking him, Deon must have overheard outsiders visiting the ducal estate whispering rumors:

“That Duchess Rodwick passed away because the young master’s power was too strong while still in her womb, weakening her body.”

“A nine-year-old sharpening his claws simply because he’s powerful.”

Deon disliked humans because they were weak. He kept people at a distance out of fear he might accidentally kill them.

Only the physician knew these reasons—having once treated Deon during a period of nightmares and accidentally overheard him muttering in his sleep.

The physician watched the empty space Deon had left with regretful eyes.

[This is the timeline separator]

For the past week, Riche had begun taking etiquette lessons twice a week.

Other studies could wait, but since she’d become a noble, she needed to at least behave accordingly.

“If you’re not going to live in the ducal estate your whole life, it’s better to learn etiquette.”

“You’re taking etiquette lessons? But miss, do you even know this? …The Rodwicks could eat with their feet, and no one except the Emperor would dare say a word.”

“Jed. Don’t fill Riche’s head with nonsense.”

“Yes, sir.”

It’s good to learn etiquette. Blake’s words had heightened Riche’s eagerness to study.

A kindly-looking woman named Madam Michelle became Riche’s etiquette instructor.

Riche always arrived at the empty study thirty minutes before class to wait for Michelle.

She’d been on her way to the study earlier today when she ran into Deon.

Seated at her desk, Riche gazed out at the curtains fluttering in the spring breeze and murmured,

“Am I strange?”

[Not strange at all.]

Pythons immediately shot back at Riche’s muttering.

Pythons lay sprawled across the cover of a thick book on the desk.

Still in that position, he turned only his eyes toward Riche and grumbled,

“You’re seriously weird. A being who wields the power of the stars so recklessly? How could there be something I don’t know? Everything in this world should be beneath my eyes.”

Grrrgh. Pythons crossed his short arms in frustration, unable to properly fold them, and groaned as he puzzled over it.

‘No matter how much I think about it, I can’t figure out what that monster really is. Ltiom is definitely Ltiom, and yet…’

For now, he intended to continue the training he’d started a few days ago—practicing the use of stellar power.

Judging by the fact he was still scorching the floor, he clearly had a long way to go.

But at least he needed to gain some control over his power before he could do anything useful.

‘If one of those bastards has come to the human realm, I’ll sense their energy again. I mustn’t miss that moment.’

Pythons resolved this as he thought of his friend sleeping deep within a tomb.

Then Riche asked him,

“Do you think Deon noticed?”

[Noticed what? That you’re Ltiom?]

“Yeah.”

[He didn’t seem to have a clue.]

“Then that’s good…”

Her anxiety wasn’t fully dispelled, so Riche’s voice trailed off.

[You really worry over nothing. But tell me, Contractor—do you plan to hide the fact you’re Ltiom forever? You wouldn’t even feel pain from purification anymore. Why not reveal your true identity? Wealth and honor would rain down on you instantly. And that’s not all—Ltioms are treasured like jewels by power-wielders.]

Pythons grinned smugly. Before the Great Star fell into slumber, he’d often seen Ltioms beside his friend while touring the human realm.

Every single one wore priceless adornments, ate the finest foods, and lived in cozy, opulent places. People praised Ltioms, and power-wielders devoted themselves utterly to them.

[Your life will change, young Contractor.]

“I… don’t want that.”

Riche shook her head.

Though it might look glamorous on the surface, she couldn’t imagine such a life being truly good.

It would merely be exchanging the cramped, confined cage of her basement for a larger, more comfortable one.

There would be no freedom there. Power-wielders would never let an Ltiom go.

Worse still, among those power-wielders was Duke Gerwer—the very man who’d obsessively fixated on her in her past life.

“My Agnes. I even killed my own son just to have you all to myself.”

Duke Gerwer, fearing his power-wielding son would steal both the headship and the Ltiom from him.

In the year Riche turned fifteen, he confessed to her that he’d killed his own son. His tone had been heartbreakingly earnest, as if delivering a passionate love declaration.

Riche could still vividly recall Duke Gerwer’s golden eyes, gleaming with madness, from that moment.

[Do as you please. As for me, I just need to figure out that guy’s intentions—the one who saved you while staying by your side.]

“…About Duke Blake. How much time does he have left?”

Riche asked Pythons hesitantly.

She was inquiring about the shortened lifespan caused by the black aura accumulating within Blake.

Pythons rolled onto his side and teased her with a mischievous chuckle.

[You, though—You call him ‘Dad’ so sweetly to his face. Why not just go ahead and call him ‘Dad’ even when he’s not around? ‘Dad, Riche thinks~’]

“I-I’ll handle that myself.”

[Hmph. You’re already hitting puberty. At this rate, it’ll be two years.]

“…Only that?”

[He seemed like a naturally frail human to begin with. Just—.]

“Miss Tuariche Rodwick.”

Just then, Michelle entered the study, signaling the start of the lesson.

Riche rose from her desk, greeted her politely, and wrestled with the tangled thoughts swirling in her mind.